Run: 2026-09-23-01M37J35ETMZB24Q5NQ3TJ0XX2

Molly spread the floor plan across the kitchen table and pinned its corners with four tins of baked beans. The plan showed a village hall, two exits, and a large red X beneath the words PRESENT TABLE. Bill leaned over it with the solemn expression he usually reserved for betting slips and unusual rashes. “Where did you get this?” he asked. “From the hall website. It’s the fire evacuation plan.” “And the X?” “I added the X.” Bill looked disappointed. He had been hoping the building came with criminal directions. Outside, rain tapped the window. Inside, Molly moved a biscuit tin across the paper to represent the party guests. It stopped beside the kitchen hatch. “Twenty children,” she said. “Six adults. One entertainer dressed as a pirate.” “Real pirate?” “Balloon pirate.” “Good. I don’t want another mix-up.” Their previous mix-up had ended with Bill surrendering a wallet to a man who could make a convincing sausage dog. Molly pointed at a narrow rectangle beside the main hall. “Storage room. That’s our way in. We arrive before the party, hide behind the folded chairs, and wait until they bring out the cake.” Bill nodded. “Cake causes a stampede.” “Exactly. Everyone gathers at the far end. We load the presents into sacks and leave through the side door.” “Two sacks or three?” “Four. The invitation says ‘no gift too big.’” “That’s a reckless thing to print.” Molly agreed. It suggested either great confidence or a dangerous quantity of toy kitchens. Bill took a pencil and drew a crooked line from the present table to the side door. Then he added a second line, which appeared to lead through the wall. “What’s that?” “Escape route if the first one’s blocked.” “You’ve drawn us into the ladies’ toilets.” “They have a window.” “It’s seven inches wide.” “I could pass the presents through.” “And you?” Bill studied the pencil mark. He erased the second line. Molly had prepared for obstacles. She had a clipboard, two paper hats, and a roll of stickers reading HELLO, MY NAME IS. She had also researched the birthday child. He was turning five, liked dinosaurs, and had once bitten a magician for pulling a coin from his ear. None of this reassured Bill. “We’ll say we’re setting up the face-painting station,” Molly said. “Can you paint faces?” “I can paint whiskers.” “What if someone asks for a tiger?” “More whiskers.” Bill considered the plan while Molly packed the stickers. The folded chairs would hide them. The cake would draw the crowd. The side door opened into the car park, where their borrowed van would be waiting. “One problem,” he said. “What if a child sees us?” Molly paused. Adults were predictable around a clipboard. Children asked questions, remembered answers, and reported suspicious behaviour at full volume. “Offer them a sticker,” she said. “And if they ask what’s in the sacks?” Molly handed him a paper hat. “Tell them you’re taking the presents to be checked for dinosaurs.”